


Dummy

by AndyAO3



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 18:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7585120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndyAO3/pseuds/AndyAO3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCree will probably regret this in the morning. So will anyone who has to use the simulator room afterward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dummy

**Author's Note:**

> Based on ingame events, because this is actually a thing you can set the custom games up to do. It really does help, it's just... Well, it can also lead to a bunch of grown-ass adults on completely different corners of the planet all giggling their asses off at who-knows-when in the morning because none of them can aim for shit. (Bao was the only one who was halfway decent. He was playing McCree. Pixie and I were Hanzo and Mei respectively. It was amazing.)
> 
> Went a little off-topic for the track this time, but the one I found just _fits_. Especially the plinky bit at the end.

It's late, and they're drunk. That's about all the explanation that McCree can muster.

Winston's got this old simulator rigged up, hard-light projections and haptic feedback and everything. Real fancy-like. It can be set to hurt, or it can be set to tickle. The bots that Athena can set up for them to practice against can be made to look like people, or just plain robot training dummies. They even come built-in with a bunch of difficulty settings, and all kinds of ways one can tweak 'em.

Mei's aim is terrible. Ain't nobody mean enough to point that out, except Hanzo when he's three sheets to the wind. Which he is. And Mei, bless her, hiccups and admits that he's right while Zarya pats her soundly on the back, understanding.

(Zarya can somehow manage to make them energy bombs of hers hit somebody dead-on at three hundred meters, so nobody's about to tell her _she_ needs to work on her aim.)

It's about this point that McCree comes up with a plan. This plan involves everybody getting geared up on a Saturday night (Sunday morning? Shit, who even knows) while sloppy-drunk and moseyin' on down to the sims for some target practice. This plan also involves setting up the sims for registering headshots only, while using a bot what don't got no headshots programmed in. He sets up six of 'em on a fifteen second respawn, figures that's enough for some practice.

(He also sets the bots to look and move like Ana Amari, 'cause he still ain't forgiven her for coming back like she did.)

Hanzo starts to follow them in. McCree stops him, because if anyone is wobbly from not allowing themselves to be out-drunk by the Russian, it's Hanzo with his sake.

"Maybe you should head back to the room, sweetheart," McCree says. His drawl sounds thicker than he means for it to be; Hanzo straightens and gives him as haughty a look as can be managed while plastered. "Sleep it off, like."

"Are you implying that I am too inebriated to shoot?" Hanzo asks.

Bingo. "Well, no, not in so many words--"

Hanzo scoffs. McCree'd say he damn near flounces when he turns towards the simulator, but that can't be right, 'cause Shimada Hanzo ain't one for things like flouncing. "Then be silent. I will 'sleep it off' only when I choose to do so."

McCree rolls his eyes at the sound of Mei's badly stifled giggling in the background, and sets up the final touches on his little pre-made skirmish. Three participants (himself, Mei, Hanzo), one spectator (Zarya). With that done, he heads in.

He forgets to set it so that no one else can enter.

\---

The way Mei shoots while drunk reminds McCree of those old arcade games with the light-gun; he imagines that if she were to play one of those, she'd press the light gun right up to the screen to shoot. And even then, she'd probably miss four times while gigglin' her pretty little head off before she finally hit the mark.

(Zarya thinks this is the cutest damn thing she's ever seen, and cheers the little environmentalist on for every hit she lands. Sometimes Mei will wander over to her and steal another sip of her vodka. McCree's too tipsy to remember his manners and look away when Zarya steals kisses in retaliation.)

Thing is, it's not Mei who's the worst shot. It isn't even McCree, who manages to be startled by the recoil of the revolver he's been using for twenty goddamn years every time he shoots, fucking up gloriously on the regular. It's _Hanzo_ , sniper extraordinaire, who has about as much accuracy as if somebody's draped a blanket over his head. And the more he misses, the grumpier he gets; hissing and snarling curses in an entertaining mix of Japanese and English as he shoots the ground, the scenery, the simulator room's ceiling, McCree's serape, and even (almost) his own foot.

It's a train wreck. McCree's tryin' real hard not to laugh, right up to the point where Hanzo notices him looking, archly says "Is something _funny_ ," and drops the arrow that probably was meant to be shot at something while the Ana-bots _piff_ at him with ineffectual hard-light representations of biotic darts.

Right then is where McCree snorts.

But Hanzo, bless his heart, doesn't seem to notice that he dropped his arrow. He does a full draw of the bow that manages to, somehow, smack him in the arm with the bowstring. The undignified squawk that results is what undoes McCree as he dissolves into hooting, snorting laughter (equally undignified in its way). Hanzo sputters, storms over, and takes a swing at McCree with the bow as a bludgeon. Which also misses. McCree just laughs harder.

Hanzo looks murderous as the _piff_ s and laughter continue. He opens his mouth to say something, probably something deadly-scathing.

One of the _piff_ s is followed closely by a _thwip_. Hanzo grunts, his eyes roll back, and he crumples. Ass in the air, face planted in the simulated dirt. McCree's stunned into silence.

An Ana-bot that is not an Ana-bot steps out from behind cover and smiles, an impish gleam in her eyes. "He looked like he could use a nap, poor thing."

McCree stares at Hanzo's ass in the air and can't help but start snickering again. He has to look away to regain his composure, and his voice wobbles with barely-contained mirth. "Much obliged, ma'am."

"I'm sure," Not-A-Bot Ana says. She leaves McCree with her _piff_ ing counterparts still milling around as per their programming, striding over to where Mei is trying valiantly to shoot a single bot that has literally backpedaled into a corner. McCree has to remind himself to be mad at her for playing dead, because he can't remember for the life of him why he was so angry and upset to begin with. To his tipsy self, she's clearly the best Team Mom ever.

(Then the next morning he has to deal with both his own hangover and Hanzo's, and he goes right back to being annoyed at her again.)

 


End file.
